


Amid the Wild Grass

by theorchardofbones



Series: Desidero [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, I promise the next part will be sexy, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans!Prompto, but for now have pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Prompto and Noctis finally have that talk, though resolutions are nowhere to be found.





	Amid the Wild Grass

**Author's Note:**

> Figured it was about time to interrupt the sexiness of this series with some pining and angst. Enjoy!
> 
> Written for [Promptis Fan Week](https://promptisfanweek.tumblr.com) day 7, for the prompt 'stay with me'.
> 
> main tumblr | ffxv sideblog

Prompto doesn’t want to wake up. He fights it; rolls back over and stubbornly closes his eyes, and slips right back into the dream he had been having.

It’s lazy, balmy — half wet dream, half domestic fantasy. They’re back at Noct’s place in Insomnia, sprawled out in bed together, and neither of them have anywhere else to be.

Voices rouse him, eventually — hushed in an attempt not to disturb the sleeping members of the party, though not enough to go entirely unheard. He tries to tune it out at first, to roll over and go back to sleep until his alarm goes off, but then he realises with a lurch that it’s fully light out.

His alarm should have woken him long before now. It clicks all at once — he turned the vibration off the night before. Must’ve forgotten to turn it back on before he passed out.

He shifts onto his other side, away from the glaring light penetrating the wall of the tent, and sees that Iggy and Gladio’s spots in the middle are empty. Noct is sitting up at the far side; movement draws his attention. Prompto gives a sleepy little smile, but his friend’s face is drawn.

Outside, the others are having an argument. As it wears on, their attempts at staying quiet steadily deteriorate.

‘Insomnia’s destroyed, there’s Niffs everywhere, and they’re running around like dogs in heat.’

It’s Gladio’s voice — Prompto can’t help but flinch, both at the anger in Gladio’s tone and at the accusation in itself. He casts a guilty glance in Noct’s direction and finds the prince glowering down at his hands in his lap.

‘They’re young,’ Ignis says. ‘Let them get it out of their system.’

‘Whatever,’ Gladio says retorts. ‘I’m goin’ for a run. You can deal with them.’

Prompto hears the crunch of Gladio’s boots on the dirt as he walks past the tent; when he’s gone, Prompto sits up and pulls his legs in toward his chest. Temptation tries to drag his eyes over to Noct, to see what kind of expression he wears, but he’s almost afraid to look.

Without a word, Noct gets out of his sleeping bag, hastily pulls on his pants and shoes, and steps out of the tent.

It’s a while before Prompto can bring himself to follow. He takes his time pulling his own clothes on, checking the time as he goes and artfully avoiding the compulsion to look at the conversation with Noct from the night before, as though it all might have turned out to be a dream.

Ignis has finished cooking by the time he emerges, and Noct sits halfheartedly eating a plate of scrambled egg. Ignis wordlessly hands him a plate, artfully avoiding looking him in the eye.

‘Nice morning,’ Prompto says, as he takes a seat a couple chairs over from Noct. ‘Sunny.’

Noct barely grunts by way of response, not that Prompto can blame him. As attempts at starting a conversation go, it’s pretty weak.

‘There are onions growing wild here,’ Ignis remarks, as if to no one in particular. ‘I’d appreciate if it someone would gather some for dinner.’

‘I’ll go,’ Noct blurts, before Prompto has a chance to register the question.

Prompto’s feels his stomach lurch. Is Noct looking for an excuse to get away from him? Does he regret last night?

It’s easy to jump to conclusions, but Prompto fights the urge — and besides, if they get time alone together, maybe they can finally talk things over.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Prompto says idly. ‘Need to stretch my legs, anyway.’

He expects Noct to flat-out refuse; the prince merely shrugs.

‘Whatever.’

At the grill, Ignis sighs.

‘Of course,’ Ignis says. ‘You’ll _both_ go.’

Conversation comes about as easily as squeezing blood from a stone, and by the time Prompto’s fork scrapes the bottom of the empty plate, he’s starting to regret offering to go along with Noct. If things are tense now, how much worse will they be when they’re alone?

They bathe quickly in the creek before they go; this time, Prompto keeps his eyes firmly to himself.

It really is a beautiful day — what few fluffy white clouds there are in the sky do little obscure the brilliant blue, and the sun’s light is dazzling. Even the smells seem that much more potent: the sweet perfume of flowers and the tang of wild garlic.

Prompto trails a little behind Noct while the prince leads the way. Prompto lets his fingers brush through the grass while he goes and turns his face toward the sun, soaking up its rays.

It doesn’t take long to find what they’re looking for, and they gather the onions up in diligent silence using the sack Ignis provided. Their fingers are covered in soft, cool dirt by the time they finish and Prompto absently dusts it off on the thighs of his pants.

Noct is the first to turn back; they’re alone out here, far from anyone else, so Prompto doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab his friend’s wrist.

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘We need to have that talk.’

It’s like his words trip a switch in Noct — the effect is immediate. He goes from sullen, from acting like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world, to grabbing Prompto’s other hand and pulling him close.

‘We can talk whenever,’ he says lightly, delving his hand into Prompto’s hair. ‘We never get to be alone.’

It almost works. _Almost._ Noct tilts Prompto’s head back, enough to mouth a kiss into his lips, to follow it up with another on his jaw, and then on his neck. For a moment, even though he knows exactly what Noct is doing, Prompto almost gives in.

The prince is halfway down, pulling up the bottom of Prompto’s shirt and laying kisses on his stomach, on his hips, when Prompto drops a hand on Noct’s shoulder and squeezes.

‘No more distractions,’ he says, and his voice betrays him with its husky tone, full of need. ‘We _need_ to talk.’

Noct sighs; rests his forehead against Prompto’s stomach. For a little while they stay like that, Noct on his knees in the grass, and Prompto slips his hand through the dark, glossy strands of his friend’s hair.

‘You’re getting married,’ Prompto murmurs. ‘We… kinda need to figure out what this is.’

He feels Noct’s breath huff out against his skin, and as nice as it is Prompto pulls away and lowers himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged with his feet tucked under him.

The breeze ruffles through the grass, sweet-smelling and warm; the wildflowers dance and sway, a blur of blues and purples and pinks. Back home on a day like this, they might have lain down together out by the old abandoned train tracks, staring up at the clouds passing overhead.

He thinks of all the times he had imagined what it would be like to turn over and kiss Noct, to take him in his arms.

Idly, he grasps a blade of dogstail grass and plucks the head off of it, rolling it between the palms of his hands. In front of him, Noct adjusts his position until he’s sitting, his feet planted in front of him and his arms propped on his knees.

‘I just want to know what this is to you,’ Prompto says, quietly. ‘If it’s… If it’s just getting laid, fine. But I need to know.’

Even ducked as Noct’s head is, he sees a dozen emotions pass across his friend’s face. He watches Noct bury his head between his knees, huffing in resignation.

When the prince lifts his head, he’s looking off into the middle distance. Prompto tries to get him to meet his eye; tries, and fails.

‘It’s not like that,’ Noct mutters.

Prompto throws his hands up.

‘Then what? You’re getting _married._ In a few _weeks._ You think we can just keep fooling around until you’ve got a wife and a kingdom to rule together?’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Noct snaps. There’s fire in his eyes, his jaw set. ‘I know. I think about it every day, every time I see you. How I should’ve made a fucking move back in Insomnia, back when there was still time.’

Prompto’s heart drums up a storm in his ribs and a wave of nausea washes over him, making his stomach roil. He’s thought about it, too — how different it all might have been. Four years of friendship, and all he has is a list of regrets.

A cloud crosses over the sun, casting the world in shadow. The breeze turns chilly, setting the hairs standing on Prompto’s skin, and he has to wrap his arms around himself for warmth.

‘So what do we do?’ he says, his voice cracking at the tail of his words. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘I don’t know.’

It’s not much of an answer, but Prompto can’t fault Noct for it — it’s not like he can come up with anything better. For all his hormone-driven imaginings, he’s never quite been able to concoct a scenario where everything works out for them in the end.

Prompto drops his face into his hands, scrubs at his eyes. There’s a knot in his throat, choking him, and he knows tears aren’t far behind. Why can’t he be the strong one, for once? Why does he always have to look to Noct for the answers?

He throws himself back, sprawling out in the grass. It isn’t long before Noct crawls over and stretches his body out next to him.

‘Can’t we just…’ Noct says, trailing off.

It’s a long while before he seems to find the right words, and Prompto spends the time watching the clouds morph into formless patterns in the sky.

‘Can’t we just have this?’ the prince says, finally. ‘Whatever it is? Can’t we just have it for a little while longer?’

Prompto turns his head to look at Noct. Rolls onto his side and curls up, his knees touching Noct’s thigh.

‘Get it out of our system?’ he says, echoing Ignis’s words. He doesn’t even know if that’s possible.

‘I guess.’

Prompto shifts closer, pressing his head to Noct’s shoulder. Tentatively, he rests his hand on Noct’s chest and watches it rise and fall, steady and reassuring.

‘We should get back,’ Noct says, moving to sit up — but Prompto clutches at his shirt, shaking his head.

‘Can we just… stay here awhile? I’m not ready to go back yet.’

Noct seems to study him, his grey-blue eyes taking everything in. He gives a terse little nod and settles back down, and when Prompto moves closer the prince wraps an arm around him, holding him tight.


End file.
